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For those who died for us to live, it is Memorial Day.
A small gathering at the small village monument.
As the years go by, there is more to ponder every year. What do we remember? Who do we remember? For whom? And why?Should we also remember the young guys who were sent off to war by a mad dictator? And what about the slavery vicitims on which our fortunes were built? And all those killed in war with the English, the Belgians, the Spanish, the Swedes?
And all those monuments in all those French towns and villages, however small they are, each engraved with the names of dozens young men sent off to the trenches as cannon fodder?
Today, I think of them as well.
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